A few miles north of Paris, I finally found the fans. I suppose in a capital city even the few hundred thousand who descend for an event of this size can get lost amongst the day-to-day bustle.
Anyway, unsurprisingly, they turned out to have all congregated in the rugbyvillage in St Denis, a few hundreds yards downwind of the Stade de France.
Which is where I am writing this from. Very jolly it is too. After three days looking for someone involved in the tournament who wasn't a) a journalist or b) a business-person, the rugbyvillage is a sweet relief. Here, four hours before kick-off, a few thousand fans are gathered to watch the game on a big screen. The village, free to all, is a jamboree: a hectic and heaving mass of colour and clamouring drunken anticipation.
I am sharing a white plastic table, one of fifty odd, with Tom and Geraldine from Guildford, and Patrick and Sylvie, from Paris. Patrick is smoking a large cigar and buffeting me, in French, with his opinions on the English tabloid press - of which he suspects I am a member.
The crowd is predominantly French, but there are also large numbers of Argentinians, Australians, South Africans and English. The English are being particularly well catered for: the bar here sells Murphy's Stout, and the menu offers fish and chips, chicken tikka and, astonishingly, 'a selection of English cheeses'. Geraldine tells me that the tikka is disappointing.
With the help of a little lubrication - rugby's drinking culture isn't just confined to Twickenham - the noise is nearly deafening, and the tango band booked for the main stage has yet to start playing.
The Argentinians don't seem to share my view that they are acting as a stalking horse for the tournament. This is the third Cup in a row in which they've played in the opening fixture. Given that they are from outside rugby's traditional top-eight nations, involving them at this stage helps evoke what the IRB like to portray as the "truly international" nature of the event.
Unlike most of the other "unfamiliar" teams, they are good enough to provide the hosts with a close game. Crucially however, I suspect they are not quite good enough to win.
Thus, the hosts get an exciting game that should end with a victory. It gives the Cup a jump-start and also emphasises the strength of the game outside of the Six and the Tri- nations.
Agustin and Paolo from Buenos Aries are quick to smack down my theory, which is fair enough seeing as it is a little patronising and cynical. Argentina, they predict, will beat both France and Ireland. Not least, they claim, because they have the brilliant Juan Martin Hernandez starting in his preferred role at fly-half.
The French, who know him from Stade Français, are wary of Hernandez. And Martin Johnson has singled him out as a potential star of the tournament. In one official guide, Hernandez is described as "the best player in the world". That said, the same guide describes Brian O'Driscoll as the Clark Kent of rugby: "a star on the field and a mild-mannered geek off it", so I'm not sure how reliable it is.
The French are a little more sceptical about their own team, whom Patrick describes as "all words and no pants", though once again I may have lost something in translation (when I tell him I just spoke to Phillipe Sella, he asks me if am a musician). None of them are quite ready to believe what everyone else in rugby is agreed on - that they, along with New Zealand, are the real favourites for the title.
Seeing as a man behind me, dressed in tartan, has started playing the bagpipes, I think I'm going to have to sign off. Patrick has decided to start singing along to the 'Flower of Scotland', which is just about distinguishable as the 'tune' coming from the pipes.
He is competing with a very large group of Argentinians pogoing along to a salsa band. Over to my left a pan-pipe group are playing something which may or may not be the 'Hotel California'. Why is it you can go anywhere in the world and find a panpipe band playing The Eagles?
I'm caught in the middle of an extraordinary soundclash, a riot of noise and an enormous muddling of cultures. It is overwhelming, and fairly extraordinary. God only knows what it will be like in six weeks.
